


36 Hours

by getthelubebitch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (and doesn't really care), (ian wants to cheat on trevor), (the word deaf to describe ian not listening), Ableist Language, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Mickey, Arguing, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Cheating, Confessions, Confinement, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Confrontations, Drunk Mickey, Drunkenness, Eventual Sex, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mentions of Trevor, Normalized Cheating, Past Lives, Post Season 7, Sad Ending, Sex, Slow Dancing, Spooning, Talking, Top Ian Gallagher, might be happy if i do an epilogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getthelubebitch/pseuds/getthelubebitch
Summary: "This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for him or care about how he was doing, but Mickey felt like he could see him slipping into his never-ending bed rest at any moment. Again, all of his inhibitions where thrown out the window. What was one more night? One night to talk shit out and then he’d be gone. It could be fine."Mickey returns from Mexico and has a favor to ask of Ian. They have 36 hours to mend the open wounds and broken hearts both have been dealing with before they're separated once again.





	36 Hours

Three months. Mickey made it through three months by himself before he caved and smuggled himself back across the border. He made some buddies during his stay, connecting him to some American mules with passports who were willing to transport him back. They stuffed him into the trunk of a car and drove back into America with no questions asked. It was suffocating and hot, making his insides feel like they were being fried and melted all at once. 

Eventually, he made it back to Chicago. Cab ride after cab ride, telling the drivers to go as far as they could until they’d kick him out and he’d flag down another. He was tired and dirty, walking the dark streets of his hometown. His hood was up to cover his face, eyes glued to the ground as he walked the familiar streets, knowing exactly where to go and what streets to take without ever looking up. He didn’t bother stopping by his old place, figuring it was either vacant or occupied only by Iggy. 

As he approached the baby blue house he had walked up to so many times before, he peeked out from under his hood and let out a sigh of relief when none of the lights were on. His shoulders relaxed and eyelids drooped some more from exhaustion while he headed up the steps and walked right in to the empty living room. There had never been a lock on the door and, even if there was, the family would never remember to use it. 

It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes mixed with a slight tinge of mold, most things left in the same place they had been two years prior. He made his way into the kitchen and up the flight of stairs, walking slowly and carefully, subconsciously stepping over the memorable creaks in the floorboards. 

He went straight for the door with caution tape stripped across it and, funnily enough, the only one with a working lock. The door squeaked as he pushed it open just enough to fit himself through the crack. He closed it behind him and moved slowly around the room, eyes grazing over all the miscellaneous trinkets covering the shelves, mismatched posters plastered to the walls, sheets falling of the beds. It was like he never left. 

He made a gap in the window to hear when what used to be his family would come home and took a seat in a chair where the bottom bunk should’ve been. The envelope crunched in his pocket as his body folded down on top of it, forcing him to pull it out and recount every last bill that had been stuffed inside of it for the past ninety-plus days. Some were missing after his food expenses, hotels for a few weeks and paying the guys who got him back across the border, but the rest were still crisp and clean like they had just been taken out of a bank’s safe. He tucked the envelope under his leg and let his head fall into his knees, small frame bent in half, arms wrapped around his thighs. 

Time seemed to be going by quickly, although, that was most likely caused by him dozing off here and there. He would just begin a dream and a car would drive by or a siren would flare, making his eyes pop open in a blurry state, confused as to how long he had been out.

In reality, it hadn’t been that long. Only about thirty minutes had passed until the laughter and chatter of a group of people outside made his insides churn, his heart sink. He stayed frozen, trying his best to keep his breathing at bay. He realized he didn’t think this through properly. In his mind, Ian would come home alone, he’d say what he needed to say and he’d leave. But to have the entire clan here through a wrench into his plan and made more things entire the unknown territory; who would be the one to come into the room? 

They were loud downstairs, Mickey trying to filter through each voice to decipher who exactly was here. There was a female voice and a distinct laugh; Fiona. Ian had told him what his sister did, so when a baby began crying that meant one thing; Debbie. He heard Ian asking everyone if they wanted a beer which was good, at least he was there. There were other voices that he couldn’t match to faces, someone asking about a wheelchair, another saying she was leaving to meet up with Lip. Then there was one, one that he Ian was having a full-on conversation with. It was new and young, trying to make plans for that night. 

He listened to what he could until eventually there were footsteps along the floor, coming up the stairs, and then paused at what Mickey assumed was the top of them and Ian spoke down to the group, “Yeah, let me just change my shirt.” The steps got closer and closer to the room, Mickey having barely any time to go over his checklist of things to say. Everything would probably come out a jumbled mess, but it would have to do.

The door opened and Ian was oblivious. Mickey sat and watched as he rummaged through his dresser drawer, pulling out different shirts and hanging them over his chest to see if they coordinated with his jeans. His words were stuck in his throat, hardly getting full breaths, and all he could manage was, “Hey.”

It was soft, barely audible, but Ian’s shoulders jolted upward followed by a loud, “JESUS FUCKING,” he turned around and his intensity tapered, letting out a quiet, “Christ.”

Mickey looked up at him, hands jammed into his sweatshirt pocket, fingers on one hand anxiously picking at hangnails on the other. Ian put the shirt he was holding back in the drawer without taking his eyes off Mickey, unable to put the pieces together as to why he was sitting in his room in a black hoodie, looking like he hadn’t slept in days, “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Mickey said with a huff, more confident now that the initial meeting had happened, and stood up, picking the envelope up off the chair, “just gotta ask you something and I’m gone; out of your life forever.”

“What?” Ian’s eyes shifted from Mickey’s own to the envelope to the door, seemingly worried that someone would walk in at any moment. As soon as Mickey opened his mouth to speak, Ian stopped him, “Wait, hold on.”

He backed Mickey up by the shoulders until his calves hit the bed, pressing him down to sit, “I’ll be right back, just stay here.”

“This is gonna take two seconds, man, I don’t have time for th-”

“Just stay,” Ian pushed him down securely, not giving him any option other than to stay right where he was, “I’m gonna go tell someone to leave, stay here.”

Mickey was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He remembered the voice from downstairs and it clicked; he knew exactly who this _someone_ was, “Your boyfriend?” Ian slowly backed away, ready to pounce if Mickey tried to stand up again, but not saying a word, “Come on, tell me. I can take it.” 

He was almost challenging Ian, trying to rile him up and get him remembering what exactly he left behind. But, still, he said nothing. He walked back toward the door and opened it a little, “Just stay here, okay?”

Mickey shrugged and let out a long, irritated breath, silently deciding to do exactly what he didn’t want to do.

This was supposed to be a one and done type of thing; talk for a couple minutes and leave. No giving in to the man who hurt him, no giving him leverage, but all of Mickey’s inhibitions seemed to dissipate when he was around Ian. 

He heard Ian go back down the stairs, not making any effort to dodge those noisy floorboards. Then there were excuses and lies, trying to weasel his way out of a night with his boyfriend. The guy was complaining and, understandably, questioning Ian’s “I’m tired” reasoning, making Mickey temporarily sympathize with him until the guy started whining in the way he hates; the long, drawn out, a little tipsily sounding “why”, the begging Ian to change his mind. He was getting a headache just listening to the guy and he was who knows how many feet away from him. 

Ultimately, there was an agreement. The cracked window worked wonders as he could hear their goodbyes and how Ian denied him a kiss because, “You’re drunk.” 

Was it actually him being considerate and refusing to take advantage of his boyfriend or was it because Mickey was sitting pretty in his room, on his bed, after months of being apart? Mickey refused to let himself believe the latter option. Nothing would happen.

A car pulled up, took the drunk guy away and Ian came hauling ass back upstairs, not saying a single word to the rest of his family who must’ve started a movie from the bass coming up through the floor. 

“Sorry about that,” Ian said through steady breaths, his EMT training proven successful. He shut the door behind him and locked it, neither paying attention to the attempt at keeping Mickey confined in this room. 

“Like I said, I’m here to ask you something then I’m leaving,” he held the golden envelope up, angling toward Ian, “you gave me this money, correct?”

“Wait, you never used it?”

“That’s not the point,” he shook it, trying to reign Ian back onto the original topic, “you gave this to me. So, it’s my money, right?”

“Yeah, I guess?” Ian sat down in the chair Mickey previously occupied, “I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

“This is my money, I get to decide what happens to it,” he pulled out the stack of hundreds and fanned them out, “there’s thirty grand right here.”

Ian watched as Mickey’s nimble fingers pulled each bill apart from the others, “Okay?”

“I need you to get me a lawyer.”

“What?” Ian said, brows knitting together in confusion.

“I’m turning myself in and I need a lawyer,” Mickey spoke calmly, like he was reading off a script, “I don’t trust Iggy enough, so you’re my last resort.”

That was only partially true, but it was meant to sting.

Ian didn’t pay much mind to the last half of his sentence, focusing only on the part where Mickey Milkovich was going to willingly admit himself back into the hands of the government, “You’re what?”

“What, are you deaf now?” he spoke slower to accentuate each word, mocking Ian’s question, “I’m turning myself in and I need you to hire a lawyer for me.”

Ian leaned forward, trying to get a better understanding, “I don’t- why?”

“Got no reason to be out,” he stood up and stopped in front of Ian, tossing the envelope into his lap, “I don’t expect you to visit or anything, just find the best one you can with that, alright?” 

He waited for Ian’s response, but he just had a blank expression on his face. Mickey snapped his fingers, waking him back up, “Hello? You hear me?”

Ian looked up at him, not having touched the money or acknowledged Mickey’s request, “Stay the night.”

“I’m not doing this, I gotta go,” he headed toward the door, not knowing exactly where he planned on going considering there was an entire group of people who hate him right downstairs.

Before he could step into the hallway, Ian was up and reaching over his shoulder to slam the barrier shut, squeezing himself in between Mickey and the door, “Stay the night, you can do it tomorrow.” 

For the first time in three months, Mickey took a good, hard look at Ian. He seemed just as sleep deprived as himself, dark circles prevent under his emerald, puffy eyes. He looked like he had lost weight, just like Mickey, cheeks hollowed out more than ever. More than during his depression. He appeared desperate and lonely. Even if he physically had a boyfriend, it didn’t matter if said boyfriend wasn’t there for him mentally. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for him or care about how he was doing, but Mickey felt like he could see him slipping into his never-ending bed rest at any moment. Again, all of his inhibitions where thrown out the window. What was one more night? One night to talk shit out and then he’d be gone. It could be fine.

“Can I take a shower?”

**Author's Note:**

> there are only two chapters. the next and last one will be the rest of the fic, what happens in hours one through thirty-six. i hope you enjoyed it! :)


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